Fifty Shades Darker(7)

Christian unbuckles his harness and leans across to undo mine.

"Good trip, Miss Steele?" he asks, his voice mild, his gray eyes glowing.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Grey," I reply politely.

"Well, let's go see the boy's photos." He holds his hand out to me and taking it, I climb out of Charlie Tango.

A gray-haired man with a beard walks over to meet us, smiling broadly, and I recognize him as the old-timer from the last time we were here.

"Joe." Christian smiles and releases my hand to shake Joe's warmly.

"Keep her safe for Stephan. He'll be along around eight or nine."

"Will do, Mr. Grey. Ma'am," he says, nodding at me. "Your car's waiting downstairs, sir. Oh, and the elevator's out of order; you'll need to use the stairs."

"Thank you, Joe."

Christian takes my hand, and we head to the emergency stairs.

"Good thing for you this is only three floors, in those heels," he mutters to me in disapproval.

No kidding.

"Don't you like the boots?"

"I like them very much, Anastasia." His gaze darkens and I think he might say something else, but he stops. "Come. We'll take it slow. I don't want you falling and breaking your neck."

We sit in silence as our driver takes us to the gallery. My anxiety has returned full force, and I realize that our time in Charlie Tango has been the eye of the storm. Christian is quiet and brooding... apprehensive even; our lighter mood from earlier has dissipated. There's so much I want to say, but this journey is too short. Christian stares pensively out the window.

"Jose is just a friend," I murmur.

Christian turns and gazes at me, his eyes dark and guarded, giving nothing away. His mouth - oh, his mouth is distracting, and unbidden. I remember it on me - everywhere. My skin heats. He shifts in his seat and frowns.

"Those beautiful eyes look too large in your face, Anastasia. Please tell me you'll eat."

"Yes, Christian, I'll eat," I answer automatically, a platitude.

"I mean it."

"Do you now?" I cannot keep the disdain out of my voice. Honestly, the audacity of this man - this man who has put me through hell over the last few days. No, that's wrong.

I've put myself through hell. No. It's him. I shake my head, confused.

"I don't want to fight with you, Anastasia. I want you back, and I want you healthy,"

he says softly.

What? What does that mean? "But nothing's changed." You're still fifty shades.

"Let's talk on the way back. We're here."

The car pulls up in front of the gallery, and Christian climbs out, leaving me speechless. He opens the car door for me, and I clamber out.

"Why do you do that?" My voice is louder than I expected.

"Do what?" Christian is taken aback.

"Say something like that and then just stop."

"Anastasia, we're here. Where you want to be. Let's do this and then talk. I don't particularly want a scene in the street."

I flush and glance around. He's right. It's too public. I press my lips together as he glares down at me.

"Okay," I mutter sulkily. Taking my hand, he leads me into the building.

We are in a converted warehouse - brick walls, dark wood floors, white ceilings, and white pipe work. It's airy and modern, and there are several people wandering across the gallery floor, sipping wine and admiring Jose's work. For a moment, my troubles melt away as I grasp that Jose has realized his dream. Way to go, Jose!